Alpha and Omega
by PeaceofStar
Summary: Three drabbles about Tristan's relationship with his hawk. Please R&R...


_Please review, even if you don't like them. They're just little drabbles at the moment, but I'm considering expanding on them at some point though I don't know when…_

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Tristan or anyone else no matter how much I wish I did.**

OO

_**Beginnings**_

As they passed through the grandiose gates of the fort, the dozen young men couldn't help gawking at the remarkable feat of engineering surrounding them. They were a very scruffy, underfed lot riding hairy little ponies and looked incredibly out of place amongst the Roman soldiers riding with them. All were nomads from the sprawling plains around the Black Sea, and walls of any sort were a foreign concept to them, but this one was exceptional. Seventy-three miles in length, it stretched clear across the wilds of the Roman frontier in Britain.

The legionnaires riding among them chuckled at their wide-eyed astonishment.

"Don't worry," advised their commander, who – though he wouldn't admit it – had a soft-spot for the young knights. "You've got fifteen years to see the whole thing."

"And believe me," laughed another, "You'll see so much of the damned thing you'll dream of the day you won't see it again."

But Tristan wasn't listening to the good-natured banter, nor was he staring, astonished, at their impressive new surroundings. Instead, his eyes were drawn up into the cloudless blue sky where a beautiful golden-brown bird of prey was heeling over, gliding effortlessly on their air currents.

With a feral skree! the bird plummeted to earth, its pinions pulled back flush with its powerful body. Gracefully, it pulled out of the dive and alighted gently on her master's outstretched arm. A grizzled old veteran of countless battles, he watched with cold, calculating eyes as the young knights dismounted their ponies and filed past him into the stable.

"That's just Old Garm," said one of the legionnaires as the passed. "He'll be training you on tracking. Him and that damned bird are as good as they get."

Tristan stopped to admire the beautiful bird and her crotchety master. She nipped nastily at his fingers and hopped to the man's knee. The man chuckled trollishly. "Not yet, whelp," he growled. "Only the best for a girl like this."

"Tris." Another knight elbowed him in the ribs and snapped him out of his reverie, urging him forward.

Reluctantly Tristan entered the cool darkness of the barn, but his mind was still far away, dreaming of the day when he would have a bird like that. _Maybe someday_…

OO

_**Out of the Mists**_

Tristan shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him as he moved stealthily across the snowy landscape. He thought almost longingly of the warm common room, enjoying the camaraderie of the other Sarmation knights – though he rarely joined in their drinking and wenching, preferring rather to observe, detached, in the shadows.

But he was here and now and had to keep his mind such. Old Garm would have cuffed him 'round his head for allowing his mind to wander. But the old falcon-master was dead now, and Tristan was alone. Even his precious Tro was back in the stables, enjoying the apple he had given her along with her grain.

He continued his trek through the snow-covered forest, wending his way through the trees and trying to leave no sign of his passage, following no path in particular – even he wasn't quite sure where he was going. Just as Garm had taught him, he was moving on instinct alone. It had been purely intuition that had pulled him from his lifeless thoughts on the battlements and sent him on his solitary trek.

Deeper and deeper he went, moving through the trees like a wraith as the snow continued to fall around him. Finally, he saw something ahead of him. It was as silent as a ghost as it glided through the thickening forest. No matter how close he tried to approach, it was always a step ahead, disappearing into the deepening gloom.

What was it? It looked like the willowy form of a female, but he couldn't be sure. He paused on the edge of a clearing and watched. The figure seemed to melt into the snow, bursting forth again on bright wings. Was it one of Arthur's angels? Suddenly it turned and was coming back towards him. He watched, completely transfixed as the shape faded and a beautiful golden-brown falcon came to rest on a nearby branch.

It clicked its beak several times and Tristan held out a hand. The bird hopped nimbly from the branch to his arm and nipped affectionately at his fingers. He smiled. "Only the best, lidelsesfælle."

OO

_**Until We Meet Again**_

The thick blade of the two-headed battle axe bit deeply into his shoulder and the powerful stroke bore Tristan to the ground. He had never been badly wounded, but there was surprisingly little pain – until he tried to raise himself off the ground. Something crunched and a horrible pain shot through his neck and down his left side

The Saxon stalked towards him like a predator coming in for the kill. Tristan grabbed a concealed knife and swiped at the enemy, but the strike was too weak. Ignoring the knife as though it was a small fly, the Saxon traded his battle axe for Tristan's dropped sword. Ruthlessly, he slashed the knight across the chest.

Too exhausted to fight, Tristan collapsed. He was going to die, and he accepted it with his usual detached manner. The Saxon now stood, looming over him, and Tristan glanced up – above the smoke and clouds to the brilliantly blue sky. His eyes, beginning to blur, caught sight of a dark shape circling high above, and above the clash of steel and the cries of the dying he heard a familiar feral skree!

He smiled to himself. _Ever-faithful Lide._

The Saxon brought the sword down in a long, sweeping arch, and the knight crumpled, lifeless.

In grief-stricken silence, the remaining knights collected the bodies of Tristan and Lancelot and buried them in the little cemetery on Badon Hill. Just as they were preparing to depart, to begin their new-found freedom, the gold and brown falcon alighted on the hilt of Tristan's sword which marked his grave.

Arthur managed a wan smile. "Until we meet again, friend."

OO

_A/N – All translations are in modern Danish as it is a descendant of Old Norse, which was spoken in Scandinavia and settlements throughout Britain, the Baltic, and Russia until the 13th Century. My apologies if the definitions are a little off._

_tro – "faithful" or "true"_

_lidelsesfælle – "companion in misfortune" or "fellow sufferer"_

_lide – "trust"_


End file.
